


The Shoe is On the Other Foot

by sophie_448



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Jealousy, M/M, Monster of the Week, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-29
Updated: 2007-07-29
Packaged: 2019-03-29 18:41:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13932981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophie_448/pseuds/sophie_448
Summary: The boys enlist the help of a local historian with their latest case.  He’s more interested in Sam than in history and Dean is not happy.





	The Shoe is On the Other Foot

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](https://gigglemonster.livejournal.com/profile)[gigglemonster](https://gigglemonster.livejournal.com/) who made me [this](http://dayln03.livejournal.com/23811.html) and who is made of all the kinds of awesome ever. Her request was: A jealous!Dean fic. Where either Sammy has his eye on someone or the other way around, and Dean just won't stand for that! 
> 
> Beta’d, once again, by [](https://shadowc44.livejournal.com/profile)[shadowc44](https://shadowc44.livejournal.com/) who wins at life.
> 
> Thanks to [](https://monica-catch22.livejournal.com/profile)[](https://monica-catch22.livejournal.com/)**monica_catch22** for the title. I was stumped and she rescued me! 
> 
> This fic is entirely unresearched. Colonel Beauregard Wilkins was pulled at random from the frightening depths of my brain.

Alex Grayson wasn’t what Dean had expected. He was a local historian and folklore expert in Gettysburg, PA. Clearly this meant he should have been old, stuffy, and boring, with badly groomed gray hair and crooked glasses. He was none of the above.

Alex was approximately Dean’s own age. He had just finished his PhD in Civil War History and had gotten a position as a visiting professor at a local university. His dark hair was just long enough to hint at its wildly curly nature. Wide, deep brown eyes were set deep in lightly tanned skin.

He was soft-spoken, with an intense gaze and a shy smile, both of which were aimed firmly in Sam’s direction from the moment the Winchesters walked into his office. It was a tiny space on the third floor of the History Department building with bookshelves full to bursting and even more books piled on every available surface.

They introduced themselves and Alex spared a brief glance and cursory handshake for Dean before giving Sam a much more thorough evaluation, clasping his hand for just a moment past decency. Dean cleared his throat and Alex pulled his hand back abruptly.

“So, what can I do for you?” he asked “You weren’t terribly specific on the phone.”

Sam grinned that irresistible grin and started detailing what they were looking for; without saying anything about restless spirits, obviously. Alex looked a bit stunned and Dean wasn’t sure he was actually catching any of what Sam was saying. After a moment, though, the dark haired man coughed slightly and started scribbling notes on a legal pad, nodding and muttering and studiously not looking up at Sam.

 

~*~*~*~

That evening, Sam and Dean were holed up in the back of a bar on the edge of Gettysburg’s tiny, touristy downtown. After they’d left the university, they’d spent the rest of the day traipsing across the battlefield looking for potentially disturbed graves. It was a fucking huge area to cover and Sam kept stopping and geeking out over this memorial and that historical marker.

Dean lost count of the times he’d dragged Sam off, grabbing his collar or his belt loop while Sam protested that he had no appreciation for the historical significance of the place. Every time Dean made some retort about not wanting to add any more dead bodies to the “history” here and Sam would shoot him the bitchface, then sigh and keep looking—until the next shiny historical location caught his eye.

Even so, they covered a lot of ground, but they didn’t find what they were looking for. Sam had his laptop out on the rickety, wooden table, perusing a map of the battlefield. “So from what Alex told us, it definitely sounds like we’re after this Colonel Beauregard Wilkins, but his body was never identified, so I don’t know how we’re going to find his remains to salt and burn,” he said, eyes fixed on the laptop.

Dean’s shoulders tightened and his jaw clenched at how easily Sam had referred to “Alex,” but he tried to ignore it and focus on the case. After all, the sooner they were done, the sooner they could leave Gettysburg and young Professor Grayson behind.

“Well, maybe we should go out there tonight and see if we can draw him out. Might give us something to go on at least,” he suggested. They continued to toss ideas back and forth, so wrapped up in the planning that they didn’t notice the person standing right beside their table until he coughed pointedly.

Their heads snapped up simultaneously, twin looks of panic in their eyes. “Alex!” Sam exclaimed, eyes darting back and forth as he tried to come up with an explanation, tried to figure out if an explanation was even necessary. How much had he heard?

Alex pressed his lips together, gazing at them seriously. “Umm, I’m sure I misheard, but it sounded like you guys were talking about the ghost of Colonel Wilkins like he’s actually real?” He looked at them expectantly, clearly hoping for them to laugh and explain what they’d really been talking about.

Sam shot Dean a meaningful glance. Dean turned it over in his mind for a moment before responding with an almost imperceptible nod. Sam looked back at Alex. “Let’s talk somewhere quieter,” he suggested. Alex’s face tightened even more, but he gestured for them to lead the way.

 

~*~*~*~

They were back out on the battlefield at well past midnight and Dean was indulging in some heavy internal cursing. He was not happy. In fact he was so mad he could spit. Somehow they’d ended up with a civilian in tow for the heavy ghost hunting _again_ only this time it was so much worse because that civilian happened to be _Alex._ Alex fucking Grayson who, up until about two hours ago, hadn’t even believed in ghosts and was probably going to get them killed because he was too busy making doe eyes at Sam to pay attention to what was going on around him.

Somehow Sam’s explanation had convinced him they were telling the truth and also weren’t off their respective rockers. Dean’s lips twisted sardonically as he thought it probably had something to do with those huge fucking puppy dog eyes that Alex looked like he’d gladly take a bath in.

And then he’d insisted on coming with them. Said he’d be _useful_. Familiar with the layout of the battlefield or some shit. Dean snorted derisively. He was pretty sure he knew what Alex wanted to get _familiar_ with and it sure as hell wasn’t the battlefield. But his huge ass puppy of a brother had bought it hook, line, and sinker so here they were.

Dean’s internal monologue was reaching levels of obscenity even _he_ was uncomfortable with when the shit hit the fan. The right honorable Colonel Beauregard Wilkins was dead as hell and he was letting them know in vividly violent terms that he wasn’t going to take it anymore.

There was a lot of duck and covering, a lot of yelling, and a few near misses, but all in all it was a pretty successful hunt. A couple pounds of rock salt and a book or two of matches later the bad thing was dead(er) with no one too much the worse for wear. Not even Alex who, if you asked Dean, could stand a scratch or two on that pretty face. Nothing permanently maiming, of course, but then, no one was asking.

In fact, Sam and Alex were too wrapped up in whatever geektastic conversation they were having to pay Dean much mind at all. The older Winchester huffed and fell into step behind them as they made their way off the moonlit battlefield.

 

~*~*~*~

By some stroke of luck they found a bar that was still open at four in the morning and Sam and Alex agreed that a celebratory drink was in order. Once again, no one asked Dean what he thought, but he figured a drink would help settle the seething resentment burning in his chest, so he followed them inside without protest.

It didn’t help. Dean was on one side of the booth with Alex and Sam sharing the other side. He nursed his beer and watched them smile and talk and laugh, their heads tilted in close to each other. He pushed himself to his feet abruptly. Sam darted a questioning glance his way as their glasses rattled precariously on the table. Suddenly Dean just felt awkward.

“Uh, pit stop,” he muttered, jerking his head in the direction of the men’s room before turning on his heel and heading in that direction. When he walked back to the table a few minutes later, all his efforts to calm down in the bathroom flew right out the window. Alex was practically in Sam’s lap and it didn’t look like Sam was objecting.

Dean’s vision bled red and he was at the edge of the table without any conscious memory of how he got there. He jerked Sam up roughly by the back of his collar.

“Dean! What the hell?” Sam’s voice was full of confused indignation.

Dean just jerked Sam towards him and growled in his ear, “Unless you want me beat your _boyfriend_ to a bloody pulp, we’re leaving.”

Sam’s eyes were snapping with anger when he pulled back to meet Dean’s stare but he jerked his head once.

“Right,” Dean said, then turned to address a stunned Alex. “Thanks for your help buddy. It’s been great. Definitely _won’t_ look you up next time we’re in town. Have a nice life!” As he spoke he was dragging Sam backwards towards the door.

Sam shot an apologetic glance at Alex. Then he jerked roughly away from Dean’s grip on his jacket. “Dude, I can walk!”

“Then get moving, Sasquatch!”

 

~*~*~*~

The drive back to the motel was tense and silent, but mercifully brief. They were barely over the threshold when Sam started to say, “What the hell is—“ But he didn’t get any further than that because Dean slammed him up against the door and kissed him. Really, it was less of a kiss than a clashing of lips, teeth and tongues, hard and punishing.

Sam knew Dean was mad, but he responded immediately anyway. There wasn’t anything he could think of that would make him not want Dean; whether his brother was touching him feather-light and surprisingly gentle or, like now, kissing him like he’d rather be punching him in the face.

They pressed even closer and their legs aligned. Sam ground his half-hard cock against Dean’s thigh. Dean growled against his mouth and manhandled him over to the bed, pushing him backwards and crawling on top of him like a predator. He stripped Sam down efficiently, dropping layer after layer on the floor beside them. Then he made short work of his own clothes, feeling a surge of satisfaction as he watched Sam’s eyes darken watching him.

Usually they were all about the full body contact, no holds barred fucking, but Dean had something a bit different in mind this time. He leaned down and swiped his tongue over the head of Sam’s cock, now fully hard, relishing the little whine Sam made at the movement. He licked up one side and down the other and then dragged his tongue, long and lingering, along the ridge on the underside.

Sam’s hips bucked forward and Dean added a steadying hand on one hip, his only other point of contact. He leaned down and took Sam into his mouth, sucking in earnest. He licked and teased and sucked until Sam was straining against the hand on his hip, trying to fuck Dean’s mouth. Then he pulled back and reached for the lube on the bedside table.

He pressed one slick finger against Sam’s entrance then pushed inside. Sam gasped and rocked against him, seeking more contact. Dean opened him up methodically, adding a second finger and then a third. With every stroke he managed to his that spot inside his brother that made him gasp and moan.

When Sam was writhing on his fingers, lost in a haze of need, a steady stream of, “Fuck, Dean, oh, God,” pouring from him, Dean abruptly pulled away and sat back on his heels.

“Did you want him to fuck you?” he asked, quiet but clear.

Sam pushed up on his elbows, struggling to find his way past the blinding, deafening wall of _want_ and _now_ , trying to catch up. “What? Who?”

Dean lips twisted in a sardonic smirk that was at odds with the desperate, lost look in his eyes. “Alex,” he said, the same way someone else might say ‘pond scum.’ “Did. You. Want. Him. To. Fuck. You?” He enunciated every word painfully.

Sam shook his head in both confusion and denial. “Alex? No, of course not! Are you serious, Dean?”

Sam’s utter mystification almost made Dean feel silly, but he holds on just a little longer. “You sure looked pretty cozy at the bar.”

“Geez, Dean, the guy was hitting on me, sure. We’ll be gone tomorrow anyway. I figured it wouldn’t make any difference—“

“To make him think he could have you?”

“It wasn’t like that!”

“Nobody gets you, but me, Sam.”

Sam grabbed Dean’s wrist and tugged him forward until their lengths were pressed together. He looked Dean in the eye for a long moment, making sure he was listening. “Of course not. I’ll never want anybody but you. Now will you please just fuck me?”

Suddenly Dean was grinning like the sun as he scooted backwards and pushed Sam’s knees up and apart. “Sure, Sammy, I think I can do that.”

He slid into his brother, steady and sure, then stayed for a moment, feeling Sam adjust around him. It felt like home. Soon Sam was arching his hips under Dean, wordlessly begging him to move. Dean obliged, setting up a rhythm of push and slide and pull. It was slow and methodical at first, but quickly grew more frantic as they both got closer.

Dean reached between them and grasped Sam’s cock, jerking him in time to their rhythm. It didn’t take much to send Sam over the edge, spurting up between them. His body clenched around Dean, sending him tumbling after.

As they lay, sated and spent in a tangle of sheets and limbs, Sam ran a hand over Dean’s back, lightly exploring the muscles there. Dean tangled a hand in Sam’s hair and they just breathed. After awhile, Sam said softly, “You know, we really should apologize to Alex.”

That brought the low growl back into Dean’s voice. “No,” he snapped before lifting his head from Sam’s shoulder to meet his hazel eyes. They were filled with mirth and the corner of his mouth twitched.

“You are so easy, big brother.”

Dean smiled against Sam’s mouth as they kissed, slow and lazy, tongues twining around each other. After a minute he pulled back, a smirk on his lips and invitation in his eyes. “Wanna see just how easy I am?”

“Oh, hell yes,” Sam responded. He was up off his back and pushing Dean down against the mattress in an instant. “But only for me, right?” His voice echoed Dean’s possessiveness.

“You know it, Sammy,” Dean replied, pulling his brother’s head down for another kiss.


End file.
